


One Thousand, Four Hundred and Forty Minutes

by quilledcorsair



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor's AU, F/M, Minor Character Death, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 22:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quilledcorsair/pseuds/quilledcorsair
Summary: A day in the life of Attendings Dr. Jones and Dr. Swan, as they navigate their upcoming parenthood, their parents and their past.





	One Thousand, Four Hundred and Forty Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution for @csmarchmadness. Thanks @xemmaloveskillianx for giving me a chance to write this doctor's AU. It's purely based on my many years of watching Grey's Anatomy, and a little bit of help from Google. So the errors are on me, and my lack of adequate research. Also, I tried a different writing style - which is to be more funny and less, ugh, dramatic and angsty and I'm not entirely happy with the result. So don't hate on me.

“Are you sure you want to start work again, love?” Killian meets Emma’s eyes in the mirror as he fiddles with his tie. She is sitting on their bed in her bra and her work pants, on but unbuttoned, the very picture of sexy and lazy, her now empty cereal bowl on the bed next to her. 

Emma smiles at him, hoping that she looks reassuring. She knows where his concern is coming from, but there’s only so long she can stay in bed. “I have patients who need me. I’ve taken a week off already, because you and Ruby tag-teamed against me. But babe, I can’t watch another true crime documentary. I’m going stir crazy. ” Her eyes widen to emphasise her point, making Killian huff, his expression twisting into faux-sympathy, brows drawn together, and lips in an exaggerated pout. She walks up to him, turning him to face her and removing his tie. “Go without the tie. The open collar look is so in,” she teases, her blunted nails scratching his chest hair. “I also watched a lot of Project Runway,” she adds, almost as if she was talking to herself.

Killian waggles his eyebrows at her, throwing his tie on the bed absentmindedly and reaching for her wasit, pulling her closer to him. “Maybe we should play hookey and stay in today. No shirts, no ties. You can see more than just my collarbone, Swan,” he quips, sliding his lips down her neck. Emma’s breath hitches and the offer is incredibly tempting - they could just say  _ screw it _ and stay in bed - but she has been stuck at home the past week, and she really does have patients to get back to. There is only so much she can push on to Blanchard’s service. It takes all her will power to push away from him. “Oh, Dr. Jones, I am not so easily seduced,” she chides, pressing a quick, apologetic kiss to his lips. 

She twists out of his arms, shrugging on a floral shirt over her bra, buttoning it up swiftly. It takes a while, but she gets her pants buttoned as well, grinning up at Killian, feeling accomplished that she could still fit into her pants. But his earlier playfulness is once again replaced with concern, and he is not quick enough to school his expression. She lets out a soft sigh. “I am  _ okay _ , Killian. I promise.” She holds her hand out to him, waiting patiently until he grabs them before pulling him closer. She rests her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, trying to hug his anxiety away.

He lets loose a long breath, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he relaxes against her. “I can’t help it, Swan. Watching you collapse like that-” he cuts himself off and closes his eyes, trying to push away the bad memory. “I never want to see you like that again, love,” he murmurs against her hair. He pulls back, one hand cupping her cheek and the other resting on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles. He looks like he wants to say more, but chooses to hold himself back, trying to smile reassuringly at her.

Emma is not so easily fooled though. She can tell that there’s more to his worry than he is letting on; she can’t push him, knowing that it will just make him retreat further back. Emma cups his cheeks, trying to communicate all her love and understanding through her smile, and hopes that that is enough. 

She worries about him too; he carries so much responsibility on his shoulders, it weighs him down when anything goes wrong. She worries when he forgets to take care of himself, because that leads down a very steep path. She worries that sometimes he focuses too much on protecting her, that he forgets that he needs protecting too. “Look, you need to stop worrying so much. It was just low blood sugar. I’m fine, baby’s fine. We both got a week off, and we’re  _ good _ .” 

Killian pulls in a shuddering breath, his hand coming to rest on her belly. She knows that he can feel the slight hardness to her abdomen, feel the smallest of curves there. His thumb rubs lightly against the curve, sending a rush of emotions through her, overwhelming her with how much she loves this man, and this baby that is  _ theirs _ . “You promise to take it easy?” he murmurs, resting his forehead against her.

“I promise.” She nuzzles his nose, drawing a smile from his, almost despite himself. “There’s that handsome smile. Let’s go, Dr. Jones, we have lives to save.” In retrospect, she wishes she had taken a moment then, to see his smile fall the moment her back was turned, and his jaw clench tightly.

-/-

“Hey! You’re back!” Mary Margaret cries out the moment Emma and Killian walk - hand-in-hand - into the attendings lounge. Which just draws everyone’s attention to Emma, making her flush, brushing her hair away from her face self-consciously.

Mary Margaret Blanchard, her best friend since internship, when they were green as the grass and chanting  _ carido, let’s go _ , is also extremely over dramatic sometimes.

“I was gone for a week.  _ God _ .” Emma rolled her eyes, dropping her husband’s hand and going to hang up her jacket and grabbing her white coat.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mary Margaret pulls Emma into a quick hug, squeezing her tight. “I’m just glad you and the little duck are okay.” Emma meets Killian’s gaze, glaring as he stifled a laugh.

_ Little duck? _ she mouths at him, and he simply shrugs, dropping off his own jacket.

“I’m fine, B,” Emma murmurs, letting Mary Margaret get her fill of the hug.

Mary Margaret nods. She pulls back, suddenly excited as she bounces on the balls of her feet, her eyes glinting as she waves the iPad she was holding in Emma’s face. “You’re back just in time. Marco is on his way in. For his surgery.”

Emma’s eyes widen, her hands grabbing the tablet from Mary Margaret’s hands, scrolling through the patient file, just to make sure they are both talking about the same person.“What? No way.” She grins so wide, she can feel her cheeks twinge. “We got a heart?”

“We got a heart, baby! UNOS called this morning,” Mary Margaret confirms, her grin just as wide. “You think you’re ready for the surgery?”

Emma scoffs, grabbing the device. “Like I’m going to say no. I should call August.” She turns to Killian, shouting a nonsensical,  _ We got a fucking heart! _ , stealing a quick kiss and rushes out the room, heedless to Killian’s call for her to  _ be careful, Swan! _

-/-

He chuckles at her retreating form, sharing an amused glance with Robin, who was lounging on the couch, a cup on coffee in hand. 

“She seems to be doing fine.” Robin raises his eyebrows at Killian, when he doesn’t reply immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Killian shakes his head dismissively. “She says she’s fine.”

“And the baby?”

“Baby, too. Or so she says.”

“What, you don’t believe her? She  _ is _ a doctor, you know,” Robin comments, getting up to rinse his mug. 

“And yet, she didn’t realise she was having low blood sugar? Or that she was  _ pregnant _ ?” Killian signs, hating the bitter edge to his voice.

“You know how busy we get, Jones. She finished her fellowship year only a couple of years ago, she needs to put in the hours still. It probably just slipped her mind.”

Killian shoots him an incredulous look. Robin shrugs helplessly, patting him in an effort to cheer him up. “C’mon, Jones. Emma can take care of herself.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Killian shakes his head, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah, mate. I know.” Killian grabs his own white coat, shrugging it on. 

“Jones?”

“Yes, Locksley?”

“Listen, I know the last week was hard on you-”

Killian feels his breath catch, his heart in his throat. He feels the rage course through his blood, just thinking about it. “Don’t,” he growled. He can feel the darkness at the ebbs of his consciousness, and it must show, because Robin takes a step back. “I- I don’t want to talk about it, mate.”

“ _ Killian _ .” Robin’s tone is almost a reprimand, and Killian isn’t ready to hear any of it.

“We all lose patients, mate. It happens. I’m fine.” The word tastes like the bitter lie it was. He is so far removed from fine, but he has a handle on it. He doesn’t need coddling. 

-/-

“I really am fine.” Emma rolls her eyes, insisting for the third time in the past half hour, leaning against the nurse station’s desk, fiddling with her iPad, checking up on the cases she had left in Mary Margaret’s care.

“How was your staycation?” Mary Margaret asks, resting her arms on the counter.

“Ugh, so boring. Killian has been coming home late, like, all of last week.”

“Huh.”

Emma’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“You just said  _ ‘Huh’ _ like you’re surprised that he came home late.” Emma’s gut clenches at the uncertainty on Mary Margaret’s face. “Blanchard, what’s going on? Did Killian say something?”

Mary Margaret bites down on her lip, her gaze lowering to her hands. “B, c’mon,” Emma implores, slipping into the nickname. Her tone is softer, the worry clear as day. “ _ Tell me. _ ”

“He didn’t tell you?” Emma apprehension multiplies tenfold by the undercurrent of concern in Mary Margaret’s tone, shaking her head ‘no’. “Emma, he lost a patient on monday. Ava Turner.”

Emma is pretty sure she gasps, or something that was pretty close to it, her hand covering her mouth. “What? I saw Ava here two months ago for her check-up. She was fine,” her voice cracks on the word fine, and with it her heart.

Mary Margaret’s expression turns somber, and almost something like regret in her eyes, that she is the one who has to tell  Emma. “It wasn’t her heart, Emma. She got into a car accident.”

Emma stop listening the moment she hears that, her throat suddenly too tight. She has known Ava since her second year of residency; Dr. French might have been her surgeon, but it was a pediatric case; she had been Killian’s patient, for  _ years _ . “He never said a word to me,” Emma whispers, unsure whether she should feel guilty or angry.

“Maybe he thought you had enough to worry about,” Mary Margaret tries to explain, but it sounded flat even to her, Emma can tell, by the uneasy expression on her friend’s face.

She needs to see Killian. Ava Turner wasn’t just any other patient, at least not to Killian. 

-/-

Regina stops her on her way to the pediatrics floor, almost surprised to see her. “Dr. Swan! I didn’t know you were coming back today,” Regina comments with a pleasant smile.

“Chief Mills,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Yep, I’m back. I’m pregnant, not invalid,” she rolls her eyes, feeling a twinge of impatience. “In fact, I’m scrubbing in with Dr. Blanchard on Marco’s heart transplant.” And in that moment, despite her worry and anxiety and just straight up need to see her husband, she can’t keep the smile off her face at the mention of Marco’s surgery. “Finally,” she adds, just for effect.

“Good for him.” Regina pauses, as if contemplating her next words. “Is Jones in today?” 

“Yeah. I’m on my way to see him now. Why?” 

“I just assumed he’d want to take a couple of days off, is all. After what happened with Ava Turner.”

“Okay, what  _ happened _ with Ava? Killian is fine at home. I don’t know what everyone is worried about?” Emma’s worry only increases.  _ Is she not paying attention to her husband? Did she not notice that he was in pain? _

Regina stares at her for a moment, before she purses her lips. “I think you ought to talk to him about it. All I know is he has been passing on surgeries for the past week, so I told him to take some time off. Our patients come to us for the best care, and we can’t be turning away cases. Not right now, with Dr. Weaver here to evaluate us.” She rolls her eyes when she mentions Dr. Weaver.

“Dr. Weaver? Who-  _ How long was I gone _ ?” 

Regina smirks. “Oh, you’ll meet him soon enough. He’s here courtesy of my mother, who seems to think our standards of teaching need to improve.”

Emma huffs out a laugh at Regina’s dry tone. “Well, she does own this place,” she retorts. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,  _ Chief _ … I should find my husband.”

-/-

Killian has been hiding away in one of the fourth floor research rooms, trying to work on his paper. Or... maybe he should accept it for the excuse that it is, to hide away from the rest of the hospital, hoping that no one would disturb him. He has sent his resident to do his rounds on the post-op patients, knowing that Dr. Jain can hold her own. He isn’t able to bring himself to operate; he can’t bring himself to get back in the OR. 

Ava had come to him when she was five years old, with a rare and complex CHD, transferred over from another hospital. She fought like hell every single day for five years, undergoing multiple surgeries, always greeting him with a big smile no matter what. Three times she almost got a new heart and three times, it fell through. It was heartbreaking for her family to see their daughter in so much pain. There were days when it was touch-and-go for Ava. No matter how many surgeries they had performed, she needed a new heart. And with her rare blood type, it took ages. After years on the list, she was finally matched with a donor, and her transplant had been successful. 

She lived to see sixteen, to go to high school. To learn how to drive and to get a license. And then she got into a fucking automobile accident. Both he and Dr. French tried their best to stabilize her but the damage that was done was too much, and she bled out on the table. 

He has come to accept that death was a part of his job, but that never makes it any easier to lose a kid. He has worked with tiny humans his whole career, and he knows it is hard to not form a connection with them. But Ava had been special - it astounds him even now how she never seemed to lose faith. She might have had her own moments of weakness, but she never failed to bounce back. 

Killian runs his hands through his hair, his eyes closed trying to push the images of Ava bleeding out from his mind. A knock saves him from the torment, his eyes flying open.

“Hey.” Emma lingers at the door, her smile something soft. She was like the sun to all his rainy days, worming her way past the numbness that has settled over his heart.  _ God, that was awful and cheesy _ .

“Hey, love.” He smiles at her, his lips pulling up automatically the moment he sees her. But even that feels exhausting. He is trying really hard to keep a calm facade around his wife, but it isn’t easy when they always share everything - the good and the bad. But Ruby had been very clear - this was a high risk pregnancy as it is for Emma, she does not need any undue stress. She doesn’t need his problems on top of everything else.

She pulls up a chair next to him, grabbing the arms of his own and pulling herself close until their knees are bumping against each other. She has a crease between her brows as she frowns at him, her head tilted to one side as if she was trying to read his mind. When he doesn’t relent to her questioning gaze, she lets out a small sigh.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Ava Turner?” Her words come out in a barely audible whisper. The room suddenly feels like all the oxygen got sucked out of it. She isn’t supposed to know this, he never wanted her to.

He curses under his breath. “Freaking Blanchard.”

“Hey, don’t blame her. Mills told me, too. I would have found out eventually.” She drags his hands into her own, squeezing them gently. “The question is why weren’t  _ you _ the one to tell me?”

“What’s there to tell, love? I lost a patient. It happens.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe you, babe.” Emma shrugs, dismissing his words easily. “I might not have noticed your pain, but I can still tell when someone’s lying to me. And you, Dr. Jones, are a big fat liar.” She says all this sotto voce, not even a hint of anger or hurt.

He clenches his jaw tight, his throat burning something fierce with unexpressed pain. “What of it?” he snaps instead of confiding with his love. He could have told her how much his heart aches with regret from not being able to save Ava. From fear for her and their child, for her health and her safety. He could have told her how fragile his hold on hope is right now. He could have told her that he so desperately wants a drink right now, so much so that he can practically taste the burn and the spice from the rum; that he could give a flying fuck about five years of sobriety, four of which he has spent with her. Instead, he snaps at her and she recoils, her walls threatening to fly up.

“Nope,” she grits out. “You’re not pushing me away, Killian.” 

Killian refuses to burden her with his problems. She doesn’t deserve this mess, not before and most definitely not now. “Swan, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“How can I not? You’re keeping things from me, you’re refusing to confide in me - your  _ wife _ . You’ve been so worried about me this past week, baby. Let me worry about you, too,” she whispers, getting up from her chair and maneuvering herself into his lap. She cards her fingers through his hard, her touch soothing and making him close his eyes on a sigh. 

Just as he prepares himself to bare his soul to her, Emma’s beeper goes off.  She curses under her breath, grabbing it and cursing even more.

“911 from Blanchard, I need to go,” she says on a sigh, sounding apologetic. “Killian-”

“Go on, love. I’m fine.”

She raises her brows at him, in no way or form believing him. “I’ll be fine, Swan. Go, save lives and such.

She searches his gaze for something, he wasn’t sure what. But she mustn’t have found it, by the way her face fell.

“I don’t need to be at the surgery, Killian. Blanchard can handle it,” she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair again, Blanchard’s 911 all but forgotten it seems. “I want to be there for you.”

Killian hums, pressing his forehead to her shoulders, breathing in deeply. The smell of her deodorant, clean and something mildly floral, calming him with its familiarity. “As much as I appreciate it, Marco has been waiting for that heart forever. You need to be there. August would want you there.”

Emma bites down on her lip, still uncertain. But a moment later, she nods. “Fine. I’ll go. But we will continue this conversation!” She points a finger at him. She gets off his lap, walking backwards and making his gut clench because his wife the clumsiest person when she can see where she’s walking. “Don’t think we aren’t going to circle back to this!”

And then she thankfully turns around and walks away, her parting words lingering in the air. He breathes in deeply, the scent of her deodorant still sticking to him, and gets back to working on his research - for real this time.

-/-

Killian’s day doesn’t get any better after Emma’s brief - but welcome - visit. If he was being honest with himself, in a way that he ought to be with Emma, this is about more than just Ava, or even about Emma’s pregnancy. For eight years, he was under the impression that he had a better handle on his alcoholism - but all it takes is one small misstep to send him back to day 1. The more he tries to hold on to his sobriety, the more he wants to have a drink. He has always been weak, he just got over-confident over the years, thinking he is a survivor, that he is stronger than his disease. But he isn’t. 

He really needs a drink.

He opens his desk drawer, pulls out his old flask. He never threw it away, said that he kept it as a reminder of his failures. But that was never the case, was it? A part of him always knew he wasn’t strong enough to resist temptation. He runs his thumb over the engraving on the front - Milah had bought it for him at an antiques shop, back when she had still been alive and thriving. When they had just been interns, starting out in a world yet unknown to them. She had always been embarrassed about how much older she was than the rest of the class, a 40-year-old divorcee, just starting out as a doctor after years of being a nurse and putting herself through medical school. She was wild and something fierce; she had made him come out of his shell. Losing her had shattered him, and for years he had given up on love. He had given up on plenty of things, if he was being honest.

And if it had not been for Belle and her unwavering support, he would have been sacked from his job a long time ago. A high functioning alcoholic, that’s what they called him at his intervention. It took them five years after Milah’s passing to notice the signs, and a year or thereabouts after to approach him about it. In fact, it had been Emma who had brought it up first. She was scrubbing with him on a surgery, and just before they were about to go in, she turned to him, her eyes sharp and boring into his.

_ “I’m sorry, Dr. Jones, but I can’t let you in there.” _

_ “Pardon me?” _

_ “I said I can’t let you in there.” _

_ “Dr. Swan, I know that this is your first solo surgery, but I am still your attending,” he growls, furious at the audacity. _

_ “You might be my attending, but Mikey is my patient and I will not put his life at risk.” _

_ “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” _

_ She moves closer to him, almost toe-to-toe. Her words come out in an icy whisper, “You might think you’re hiding it well, under layers of cologne and mouthwash, but I know an alcoholic when I see one, Dr. Jones.” _

_ He bristles.  _ How dare she? “ _ Dr. Swan, you are out of bounds-” _

_ She sucks in a sharp breath. “You can reprimand me all you want - after the surgery,” she says firmly, and walks away, pushing the door to the OR open and leaving him speechless, shame and fury churning in his gut. _

He had been tempted to write her up for insubordination, but what could he possibly say? That she had called him out for being an alcoholic? Because that would have gone well with the suits and the chief.

He started noticing the signs then, started trying to hide it. But once Emma said something, it felt like all eyes were on him. He couldn’t do his job anymore, and when Belle, Robin, Regina and David confronted him about it - he did not argue. He went to rehab, he worked the program, he accepted his suspension for what it was, and thanked God that he did not get his medical license revoked.

He had never been drunk while he was performing surgery; Emma had been wrong to think that. But if he had kept going on that path, it might have gotten to that stage. He owed her...everything.

She was on his service his first day back. It felt like some of kind of karmic justice.

_ “Dr. Swan, do you have a moment?” he asks, as they are both exiting the patient’s room after morning rounds. _

_ She seems to stop short at that, clearly hesitant. “Of course, Dr. Jones.” _

_ He tries to smile, building up the courage to tell her what he wants to. “I- uh. A few months ago, you confronted me about some- about my drinking problem. I just wanted to thank you. I’m working the program, you know, doing the steps and what-not. I would never- I’ve never operated drunk. I would never put a child’s life in danger.” _

_ Swan remains quiet, waiting for him to continue. Her expression reveals nothing; she’s still as a stone, and closed off. _

_ He clears his throat. “I wanted to thank you, for saying something. For confronting me.” _

_ Swan stares at him, the silence between them stretching on for longer than he would like. He resist the urge to scratch behind his ear, knowing that would be an obvious tell about how nervous he is.  _

_ She nods, finally, a slight flush to her cheeks. “I’m glad you got the help you needed, Dr. Jones.” _

_ He watches her walk away, and some part of him wanted to go after her. To fall in line, to get to know this resident who leaves him wanting to know more. _

Over the years, he did find out more about Dr. Swan. He learnt that she was David Nolan’s younger sister, having changed her name so it did not seem like she got to where she was through anything else but her hard work. Especially, not her father, Dr. Robert Nolan’s influence in the medical community.

He learnt that she practically drowns her hot chocolate in whipped cream, adds just a sprinkling of cinnamon on top. He learnt that she has a good heart, even if she does guard it with iron walls and barbed wire.

He learnt that he could love again - because it was impossible not to fall in love with Emma Swan. She changed the narrative; she challenged him, she supported him. She was just a breath of fresh air.

It’s all these reasons why he has to stay sober now - for her. He does not want to put her through that, especially when she already has a lot on her plate.

He is pulled from his stream of consciousness by the incessant noise from his beeper, making him growl in annoyance. He is not taking any cases, and he has made that very clear to everyone, including the chief. 

But when he sees the message from Blanchard, he’s on his feet and out the door in record time.

_ It’s Emma. OR 2. Hurry. _

-/-

It had just been a routine heart transplant. Everything was going fine. They had been discussing Mary Margaret and David’s upcoming nuptials, joking about how much Emma intended to embarrass David with her speech. 

The transplant went  _ fine _ , and then it wasn’t. 

The heart doesn’t start pumping, it does not pink up. Mary Margaret tries shocking it again, at a higher voltage.

Nothing.

She tries again, and again there’s nothing. The heart rate monitor shows just a flat line.

“Let me try massaging the heart,” Emma says.

“Emma, I don’t think-”

“It will, B. Hold on.”

Twenty minutes later, Emma is still trying to get the heart pumping. She can’t let Marco die - this is her best friend’s dad. August didn’t reach the hospital before they took Marco into surgery; he barely got to talk to his father on the phone. The last thing Emma said to him was to come and see his dad once he’s got a new heart.

_ God,  _ she can’t let Marco die.

The only thing Emma can hear is the rush in her ears. The only thing that matters is to get Marco’s heart beating again. She just has to keep massaging it until it can work on its own. She doesn’t hear Mary Margaret’s voice, telling her to stop. She doesn’t hear her husband’s voice, doesn’t even realise that he is in the OR. She doesn’t feel the arms wrap around her, but she feels it when it makes her hands pull away from Marco’s chest cavity.

“NO! Stop it!”

“Swan, love. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

But she doesn’t register anything Killian says, pushing at the arms wrapped around her waist.

“Emma!” he snaps, pulling her around to face him. His hands cup her cheeks, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Swan, it’s over.”

“No, Killian. He was fine, the heart-” She bites down on her lip behind her mask. She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

“Dr. Swan, do you want to call time of death?” Mary Margaret asks her, a warble to her voice.

Emma swallows past the lump in her throat. She nods, pushing away from Killian and turning to face Mary Margaret. “Time of death: sixteen-oh-four,” she announces clinically, keeping a firm lid on her feelings.

She can feel her heart break, but she can’t let it show. Any more than she already has, at least.

“Swan, come on, love. Let’s get out of here.”

She shakes her head. “No, I need to tell the family. I need to talk to August.” Her voice is still restrained - a facade of professional indifference.

“Love, you don’t have to,” Killian inists. She bristled at his placating tone.

“I am a doctor. I do not need you to baby me. I can handle this.” She pushes past him, taking off her gown and gloves, stuffing it in the disposal. She looks past him at Mary Margaret, feeling enraged that she told her husband. “Dr. Blanchard, I’m guessing you can close?” She doesn’t wait for a reply.

She is halfway down the hall when Killian catches up with her, pulling on her arm and forcing her to stop.

“Swan, stop. I am not babying you.”

She turns around, pulling away from his grasp, her arms crossed across her chest. “Right. Sure you’re not,” she says wryly.

“Can you blame me for being concerned?” he snaps back.

“This is not about you being concerned. This is about you being so overprotective. It’s like you think I don’t know how to take care of myself. You have my friends keeping tabs on me, letting you know every time I so much as blink too much, Killian! What - do you think I don’t care about this baby as much as you do?”

He looks stricken, but Emma can’t seem to bring herself to feel bad. “Of course I don’t think that,” he whispers, and Emma can hear his voice crack.

Emma sighs, taking off her scrub cap and bunching it in her hands. “I need to go and see if August is here, Killian.”

She can tell he wants to say more, he wants them to talk. But she doesn’t have the patience for it. If there are going to fight, they can do so at home.

“Yeah, I understand, Swan. I- I’m so sorry about Marco. I know how much he meant to you.”

She nods stiffly, which makes his shoulders sag in defeat. He looks dejected, and she might be frustrated with him - hell, she is enraged, if she is being honest. He is being an overprotective idiot-man, but he is  _ her _ overprotective idiot-man.

She reaches for his hand, squeezing briefly. “I’ll come see you after?”

“Sure, Swan,” he smiles tightly. She frowns, knowing that whatever he is going through, it’s just been exacerbated by this weird tension between them.

“Babe…”

“Go, love. We’re good.” He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, his lips barely grazing her skin. He moves away before she can react or reciprocate, and is halfway down the corridor. Her eyes burn with tears, her throat tight. Everything was fine this morning - or so she thought. 

Now, she has to inform her best friend that she couldn’t save his father. And her husband is keeping secrets from her.

She resists the urge to kick something, scrubbing her hand over her face, the braids she put her hair in starting to become painful, only adding to her headache.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, and prepare herself, before she walks into the waiting room. She prays that she doesn’t see August, just so she can have some time before she has to break the news to him. But she spots him the moment she enters the room, pacing restlessly, his jacket discarded next to his helmet on a seat nearby.

He looks different now, with a full beard and long-ish hair. More hardened after years on the road. God, she can’t tell him. She can’t, she can’t, she-

“Emma!” he calls out to her before she can actually run away. August is in front of her in three strides, faster than she anticipates. “How did the surgery go? When can I go see dad?”

Emma hopes that she looks more composed than she feels, because right now all she wants to do is cry. She’s known Marco since she was a kid, running away from home and just wanting to take a break. He’s one of the best people she knows... _ knew _ .

Marco’s house had been a sanctuary for Emma, ever since she was five years old. He lived right next door, and he had a son Emma’s age. August has been by her side through everything. It was not easy growing up as Robert Nolan’s daughter: there were always expectations. Her father was not cruel, but he had standards of behaviour that his children had to meet. They had to pick a path, and they were not allowed to deviate from it. Ever.

Robert  had been an imposing man, a hard to please man. But he never hesitated to do everything he could to get his children where they needed to go. But growing up without a mother, with just Robert’s often times overbearing nature - Emma needed the respite that Marco’s home provided. And August is the only person who understood her for a very long time. He is practically another brother to her. 

“August,” she began on a stutter. “There was a complication during surgery-”

“No,” he breaths out, stepping back from her almost unconsciously.

She wants to stop. She can’t say it. She tries to make herself stop, but the words keep coming. “-we tried everything we could. But, your father- Marco died in surgery, August. I’m so sorry.”

She’s seen enough trauma come through in her life, and she remembers this one time a man came in with his entrails practically spilling out. She would never forget the look on that man’s face - that’s how she feels right now. She feels gutted, having to watch helplessly as August breaks down.

Over all these years of being a doctor, sensitivity training included having to tell the family of the patient’s demise. She’s seen a myriad of reactions - some people go right into denial, some people react in anger. Most of them break down crying, heaving breaths and ugly sobs, as if their bodies were not able to comprehend their loss, that the heartache was too much and it just spills over. She’s not a monster, she could never become immune to this. But she’s been trained to not react in the face of such utter devastation of the human spirit. She is the daughter of Robert Nolan; she ought to be made of sterner stuff. 

All she wanted to do was break down with August, to mourn the man who was like a second father to her. It was supposed to be a routine fucking surgery.

August manages to compose himself long enough to ask her what happened.

“The surgery went fine, but the heart just did not take. I- I’m so sorry for your loss, August. There was nothing more we could do.”

She is hardly in control of what she is saying; half of what she says are rehearsed lines.  _ Never tell anyone it’s your fault; tell them you’re sorry. Use the word: tell them their loved one died. Be firm, but compassionate. Be direct. Make sure you let them know you did everything you could.  _ God, she wants to throw protocol out the window.

“I thought you said it was a routine procedure, Em!” he yells. Emma closes her eyes for a moment, pushing the guilt down, maintaining her composure.

She opens her eyes, forcing them to meet August’s. She can see the grief and anger swirling in their glass blue depths.  _ Fuck _ .

“It was, Gus. It was; but there are always risks involved with surgery, especially at an older age.”

“This is my dad, Emma! I trusted you,” he hisses, his fists clenched at his side. “You said he would be fine.”

“Gus, I- I don’t-” She has no idea what she can say right now. She fucked up. She never should have said that. He was just upset that he couldn’t be there before they took Marco in for surgery, and she wanted to reassure him.

August lets out a deep breath, his tense shoulders dropping with the exhale. “It’s- it’s my dad, Em,” he murmurs, shuffling his feet and running his hand through his too long hair.

“I know, August.” She squeezes his bicep, offering him the only comfort she can give him.

-/-

It takes over an hour before Killian sees his wife again. She slinks into the research room, freshly showered and changed, wearing a sweater instead of the shirt she had on this morning. She closes the door, pressing her back against it and resting her head on it, her eyes falling shut.

He is out of his seat before her legs start wobbling, and he catches her as she collapses against him, her hands clasping the lapels of his coat in a white-knuckled grip.

“Swan!”

She manages to stay upright, but barely, half clinging to him. He can see the blotchy red spots on her cheeks and the redness in her eyes when she opens them. He can see her eyes begin to water again, but she keeps them at bay, stubbornly refusing to shed them.

“I-I’m fine,” she says, finally. The first words she’s said to him in hours, and despite the grief that tinges her words, he can tell that she means them. 

He nods jerkily, unwilling to relinquish his hold on her, instead, guiding her to sit on the chair he had abandoned. She almost groans in relief, her shoulders shagging and head dropping over the back of the chair. He resists the urge to ask her how long she’s been standing on her feet.

He takes a seat on another chair, pulling it to settle facing her, knees bumping hers. “How is August?”

“Not good,” she mumbles, her eyes fixated on a point on the ceiling. “I don’t know- I didn’t know what to say.”

He can see her struggling not to cry, and it breaks his heart. It makes his worry sky rocket, too. But before he can say anything, she speaks, her gaze trained on the ceiling still.

“I’m sorry, Killian.”

Killian startles at that, his spine ramrod straight. What could she possibly apologise for?

“Swan, you have nothing to apologise for, love.”

Emma clears her throat, brushing at the few tears that have fallen, looking at him right in the eyes. “I’m sorry I snapped. I know you don’t think me incapable.”

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, the exhaustion setting in. “Yeah, you’re right, I don’t.” He hesitates, before he adds. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you are.”

She lets out a watery chuckle, pulling at the sleeves of her sweater, so they hang over her hand, covering them entirely. He hates it when she does that, stretching out the knit, but he will hate it more if she stops. It’s quirks like these that he loves about his wife.

“We’re just on an apology train today, aren’t we?”

“All aboard the self-pity express,” he adds, with a half smile, drawing a chuckle out of her.

She gets off her seat, easing herself into his lap with a dramatic sigh. She places her head on his shoulder, snuggling into him when he wraps his arms around her. Neither of them speak for a long while, the silence that envelops them comforting and one that they are quite familiar with.

“Killian…”

“Yes, darling.”

He feels her take a deep breath, and he knows immediately what she’s about to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ava Turner?”

“Emma, it’s not important.”

-/-

Any other time, Emma would have exploded. She would have argued, or yelled. She would have raised her voice; angry that her husband is pretending to be so cavalier. But she is so tired - she can feel the bone deep exhaustion as it threatens to overwhelm her. She can feel the knots in her neck just as much as the metaphorical ones in her gut, telling her that something more was going on with her husband, something she ought to have noticed a while back. So, she doesn’t yell or even raise her voice. She tamps down on the urge to cry - it seems like every small thing is making her cry nowadays, and it’s already been an emotionally draining day. 

She hums low in her throat, pressing her nose to Killian’s neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne. “Of course it is,” she whispers fiercely. “I have had people come up to me and express concern for you -  _ my husband _ . I had no idea you were even- I know you’re worried about me, but that doesn’t mean you should keep things from me. Please, baby. Talk to me?”

She pauses, knowing that Killian needs a moment. He will talk, she knows he will. She feels his grip on her tighten for a moment before he deflated completely. “I- I tried everything to save her, Swan. She bled out on the table and I couldn’t stop it. She was lucid, when she came into the ER. She was talking to me, and she was just-  _ Fucking dammit, _ ” he cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as tears rapidly filled his eyes. 

Emma shifts in his lap, reaching for his clenched fists and clasping them between her hands, her thumb brushing against his tight knuckles.

“She just turned sixteen, Emma. She was just a kid, and she was finally having a normal life. Her life slipped right out of my hands, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“Baby, you did everything you could.”

“You don’t know that, Swan. You weren’t here,” he argued, the anger in his voice scaring her. Not because it is directed at her, but because he seems more angry at himself.

“I know you. I know you would have tried everything.” When he does not say anything in response, and when he doesn’t meet her eyes, she makes him, gently turning him by his chin toward her. “I know you cared for her a lot. She is not just any other patient. You know as well as I do, sometimes there really isn’t anything we can do. Today is an example of just that.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Swan. Just drop it.”

“But-”

“Bloody fuck, Swan. I said drop it!” he yells, startling her out of his lap and on to her feet. He immediately looks guilty for the outburst, getting up and reaching for her, buts Emma steps back, almost involuntarily, her eyes wide and mouth agape, stunned.

“Darling, I- I’m sorry.”

Emma stuffs her hands in her jacket pocket so he doesn't see them tremble. She is not scared of her husband, but she knows what’s happening with him now. This is -  _ God, this is about so much more than Ava Turner _ . “No, no, you’re right. I should have dropped it.”

She starts gathering her things, and she can feel his guilt radiate off of him. She wants to go to him, comfort him. But she can’t - her own fear and guilt are eating her up alive. She just- she feel a heavy weight on her heart, and she needs a moment.

“What’re you- where are you going?” he asks, a desperation to his tone and she is certain that she’s being split into two.

“I’m going home, Killian,” she says on a deep sigh.  _ God fucking dammit, she is exhausted. _

He shuffles where he stands, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Both of them stare at each other, neither finding the right words. 

“Should I - Can I come home?”

Emma is pretty sure that her heart is in pieces now.  _ God, he looks so lost _ . It breaks her, and she drops her stuff, reaching him in two strides and throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him to her.

“Always,” she whispers, against his shoulder. “You can always come home.” She pulls back, her hands coming up to delicately frame his face, swiping at the wetness under his eyes. “Killian, just tell me. I know you’re not telling me something. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

-/-

_ Tell her, you fool. Just tell her. Tell her you are slipping. Tell her you need help, tell her you don’t trust yourself to be alone anymore. Just fucking tell her-  _

“Emma, I-”

But before he can say another word, the door to the room bursts open, revealing Dr. Jain, panting for breath and looking terrified.

“Dr. Jones, we need you in OR 1.”

“Jain, I told you. I’m not-”

“Now, sir,” she demanded, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Killian looked between Emma and Jasmine, feeling conflicted, not knowing if he can do this.

“Dr. Jones!”

“Okay, let’s go,” he says finally, the distress evident in Dr. Jain’s voice. She wouldn’t ask him if it wasn’t serious.“I’ll see you at home, Swan?”

She nods, and with a quick squeeze of her hand, he’s running out the door.

-/-

“Dr. Weaver, Dr. Fisher, I’m here. What’s happening?” Killian asks, walking into the OR, freshly scrubbed, and slipping into the gown and gloves.

Ariel Fisher looks up at him, panic evident in her eyes. “Dr. Jones, I’m not able to get the bleeding under control.”

Killian’s eyes widen, anger simmering in his belly. He turns to Weaver. “You let a resident operate on a kid?” he demands, pushing everyone aside to get a better visual, taking over from Dr. Fisher.

“It was just a routine surgery.”

“Dr. Fisher is a second year resident. She is not ready to fly solo on a child,” Killian grits out, trying to find the bleeder. “Clamp, clamp, now!” he barks, grabbing it from the nurse’s hand as soon as she hands it over.

“That is not how my teaching program works, Dr. Jones,” Dr. Weaver snaps back, assisting Killian.

“Your teaching program should not include operating on children, Weaver. You’re not a peds surgeon. You should have consulted with me.”

“Oh, forgive me, Dr. Jones, but you were indisposed and did not wish to be disturbed,” Weaver drones.

Killian can feel the utter disdain simmering in his gut. “Weaver, a kid isn’t like an adult. You can’t expect Dr. Fisher to be able to perform a procedure she has only practised on a adult before. I am the head of paediatrics here, and I should have been informed. Which you did not do.”

The machines around them started beeping loudly, making Killian curse under his breath. He can’t seem to find a visual still- there was just too much blood and he can’t seem to stop it. 

“Dammit, her blood pressure is dropping.”

“I  _ need _ to see, fuck. Lap pads, now!”

The machines were still beeping, without an end in sight. Killian knows that there is no coming back from this. The kid’s lost too much blood, and the more bleeders he clamps, the more that seem to pop up. He should have been here, he should have supervised the surgery.

He shouldn’t have handed the reins to Dr. Jain. He was the attending, and he should have been here. He should have prevented this. He can’t lose another kid, he just can’t.

-/-

Ariel is frozen, staring with wide-eyed horror as the attendings try and save the life that she was responsible for. She wants to move, she wants to do something, but from the moment Dr. Jones had pushed her to the side, she can’t look away from the result of her mistake. The kid - Maria, her name was Maria - she is going to die. She is supposed to be on a cruise with her parents now, but instead, she is going to die. 

And it is all her fault. She should not have been so cocky. She should have voiced her concern when she had it - she should have told Dr. Weaver that she’s never performed this procedure on a child before. She should have listened to Jasmine when she told her to go to Dr. Jones.

She is unmoving, her gloved hands covered in Maria’s blood. She watches as Maria blood pressure drop, she watches as each blood drenched piece of cloth is discarded to the side. She made a mistake and Maria is paying for it with her life.

She swears her heart plummets to the ground when the girl flatlines, the long  _ beep _ loud in the suddenly loud room. The surgeons have stopped - there’s nothing more than can be done.

“Time of death, twelve-oh-two am,” Dr. Jones calls out. 

-/-

The three surgeons file out of the OR, their gowns and gloves discarded in the medical waste bin. Killian catches sight of Dr. Fisher, who was barely holding it together. He failed her - he should have been in the OR, guiding her. He is her teacher.

“I, uhhh. I- What did I do to her?” she whispered, horrified. Tears were welling in her eyes, and Killian can feel his heart constrict thinking about the little girl’s parents. 

He turns to Dr. Weaver, waiting for him to answer her. But that man looks just as lost as he feels, but when he meets Killian’s gaze, he nods.

“We go and inform the family. We tell them we did everything we could, but there were some complications,” Dr. Weaver responded. 

No matter how much he loathed the man a while ago, Killian respects that he did not throw Ariel under the bus. 

“But I did that. I killed Maria,” Dr. Fishers stutters out, her lower lip trembling and she bites down hard on it.

“You made a mistake, Fisher,” Killian finally says. “And now, you will learn from that mistake. The next time you enter the OR, you’ll carry this memory with you and you will  _ make sure _ that the next one survives. The next time, you will call me.” He tries to not sound too harsh; she doesn’t need that right now. She needs to know that she’s going to be alright. 

“Ariel, Dr. Jones and I can go inform the parents,” Dr. Weaver offered, and Killian was about to protest. But Ariel surprised him.

“No, I should do it. You said it yourself, Dr. Weaver. I am Maria’s lead surgeon. I will talk to her parents.” Killian can still see her struggling to hold her tears at bay, but she has her head held up high. 

It makes him realise that he needs to take up some accountability as well. He needs to make some changes.

“You got this?” he addresses Weaver, who nods wordlessly walking with Ariel.

Killian marches in the opposite direction, heading to Mills’ office. He needs to do something he should have a long while back.

-/-

Emma is struggling to keep her eyes open. She has been waiting for her husband to return for hours and it is well past midnight now. She is half convinced that he’s spending the night in the on-call room, even if he is, in fact, not  _ on-call _ , just so he could avoid her.

It saddens her to feel so helpless when it comes to her husband. They’ve been together for ages, it should not be so hard. He can’t keep trying to protect her all the time; that’s not how their relationship has been. He knows that she’s strong enough to handle things by herself.

Ruby should have never told Killian anything about her blood pressure. Emma might not say it, but she is worried for the baby. She knew when they found out that they were pregnant, that it would be high risk. She’s not exactly young - she knows the complications that come with a late stage pregnancy. But she’s fairly healthy, and she can take care of herself - or so she’s trying to convince herself.

She rubs absent-mindedly at her chest, her heart heavy with worry. She does not want to think about  _ it  _ \- she wants to believe that her husband will come to her if things really get that bad. But as the hours pass, her mind runs rampant with the worst case scenarios. She doesn’t want to think that her husband has fallen off the wagon, so to speak. But the more she thinks about his behaviour the past week, the more she starts to believe that Killian has started drinking again.

If he has, they will deal with it. She will ask him when he gets back home, whenever that is. And they will figure it out. They will be fine. She tries not to overthink, she tries to repeat over-and-over in her mind that they will be okay. She tries to remain calm, knowing that he has to be the one to come to her; that she can’t just jump down his throat.

It’s well past 2 am when she hears the locks click and their front door open. Emma sits up straighter on the couch, putting down the book she was only half-focused on, biting her lip in anticipation.

Killian is almost startled to see her, jumping a bit when he turns from locking up the door to see her sitting in the semi-darkness of the living room, the only light is from the lamp she has on.

“Swan, what’re you doing up? It’s late, love.” He sinks into the couch next to her, closing his eyes and letting out a groan as he stretches his arms above his head, his joints popping. “Gods, I’m exhausted.”

“Where were you?” She winces the moment she says those words, knowing how it might have come across. 

His eyes shoot open, his lips pressed thin, she can tell that it came out exactly how she  _ didn’t _ want it to. “At the hospital.” He sits up, facing her properly. “Where did you think I was?” 

Emma sighs, reaching for his hand, letting him know that she didn’t mean to sound accusing. “I didn’t think you were coming home tonight.”

That seems to make the tension in his posture reduce, at least a little. “Yeah...I’m sorry we left things so, erm, uncertain.”

She smiles then, leaning against the soft fabric of the couch. “I know. Me too.” She pauses for a beat. “Let’s go to bed?”

Killian looks surprised, and she isn’t sure if he’s surprised that they aren’t continuing their conversation or because she wants him in bed with her. She doesn’t know what hurts more.

(The bed thing. Definitely the bed thing.)

“Let’s just sleep. It’s been a long day and I just want to crawl under the covers with my husband and fall asleep,” she says, almost a plea. She knows she sounds desperate to hold on to some semblance of normality but she honestly doesn’t care anymore.

She wants him to relent. She just wants them to close their eyes and pretend that everything is still fine. But he looks conflicted, and she almost groans out loud. 

“Love, I need to tell you something,” he begins. The trepidation in his voice is not helping her stay calm.

“I know, Killian. Just - let’s talk tomorrow, okay?” she tries, tugging on his hand. 

“Wait - You know? How?” His brows furrow, almost confused that she has figured it out. Almost as if he wasn’t sending out blaring signals.

“ _ Killian _ .” She whines. She can’t help it. She’s several weeks pregnant, she’s had a long day and it’s past  _ 2 am _ ! Tears of frustration sting her eyes - why does he get to decide when they will and won’t talk. She has been wanting to talk since this morning and he choose  _ now _ ?!

“You’re not that discreet, buddy,” she snarls. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me, Killian. You could have come to me and we could have figured it out.”

“Figure- Love, what do you think I wanted to talk to you about?” She wants to slap him. She really just might.  _ How can he still keep pretending? _

“Dammit, Jones. I know you’re drinking again.”

Okay, he looks upset now. Maybe she is wrong. Shit shit shit. 

Fuck.

“You think I’m drinking again?” he asks, his voice quiet. He’s hurt, she knows he is. Well, she can’t take back what she said. And maybe, she’s not wrong.

“I don’t know what to think. I’m concerned. Just tell me - are you?”

The pause between her question is the longest one she’s experienced. The heaviness in her heart just grows more and more with each passing second, and she is so close to shaking him. Her hand subconsciously reaches for her bump, rubbing it like she would a worry stone, trying to calm herself down. She’s holding her breath, waiting for the blade of the guillotine to drop on their lives.

“No, I am not drinking again, Emma.” Every word rings true, and Emma lets out the breath she was holding. But...there’s an unsaid ‘but’ at the end of his sentence that makes her heart race and her gut clench, and  _ God _ , how is she expected to keep her blood pressure from sky rocketing.

“There’s more to it.”

Killian nods, biting the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to,” he confesses, staring down at their entwined hands, his thumb running over her knuckles. “Gods, I just wanted a drink so fucking bad, Swan.”

“Baby-”

“After Ava…. I couldn’t do it, anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to get into an OR and operate anymore. I can’t save these kids from the everything out there in world, how am I going to protect our kid from it?” His words break her. It breaks him, too, apparently, because he falls into her arms, burying his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, tears hot on her skin.

She runs her finger through his hair, her throat tight and it’s so hard to breathe, and how the  _ fuck _ can this day keep giving her reasons to cry, still. She can’t bring herself to say empty words of assurance, she can’t bring herself to lie, when she’s been asking herself the same question. 

How can she be a good mom, when she didn’t even know she was pregnant? How can she be a good mom, when she wants to, in equal parts, be a hands-on mom and a hands-on surgeon? How can she be a good mom, when she couldn’t even tell that her husband was struggling?

“We will do the best we can, Killian,” she whispers against his ear, pressing her lips to the side of his head. 

She feels him take a deep breath, pulling away. She swipes at his wet cheeks, her mouth turned down. She feels lost, but she’s at least lost with him.

“I took a sabbatical from work,” he blurts out. 

“What?”

“Yeah. For six months.”

“When did you decide this?” She’s not sure if she’s upset or surprised.

“A couple of hours ago. That’s why I’m late. I was discussing it with the chief. I had paperwork.”

“Paperwork?” she repeats, because she doesn’t know what else to say. This is fast - and unexpected. She’s not against it, per se, but, she didn’t even know he was thinking about it. He didn’t even discuss it with her. 

“Swan.”

“What?” 

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” he says, a tremulousness to him, so unlike how self-assured he sounded moments ago. It was giving her whiplash.

“You’ve taken a sabbatical - so you’re not going to the hospital?”

“No, no. I will, for consults. I’m taking a break from surgery; focus on my research with Locksley.”

She hums in the back of her throat, because what else can she say. He should have come to her, the asshole. “Cool, cool. Also, what the fuck?”

He winces, and she doesn’t blame him. He should wince. She’s annoyed. And she’s...confused.

“I should explain.”

“Yeah, that’d help,” she snaps, even if she doesn’t mean to. She rephrases. “I’m sorry. Just - yeah. An explanation would be good.”

“I’ve been sober for a while, right? And I think that just made me cocky? Or something. When Ava died, it was right after your, ah, your fainting incident, and finding out I’m to be a father. It was just all so-” He shudders and she tries not to be too offended. He notices, of course. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that… I was scared. I was fucking terrified. After what Ruby said, I just wanted to stay at home with you and never leave your side until the baby’s here. And that’s impossible, I know.”

“Yeah, you better.”

He huffs out a laugh, and the mood lightens a tad. “I didn’t want to worry you, Emma. And for that, I’m sorry.”

-/-

She is kissing him, and he is mostly surprised, but he would be a fool if you think he doesn’t respond almost immediately. He’s pretty sure he even whimpered a bit. Her lips are soft and inviting against his, and it is just that simple. It’s simple, and neither of them wished to take it further than that. It is tender and sweet, and just what the doctor ordered apparently, because he feels like he can breathe again since that evening.

She rests her forehead against his a moment later, a smile dancing on her lips. “I just needed a moment,” she says, pulling back and drawing her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on it.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I wish you had just come to me. I wish you’d talk to me. When we got married, we promised that we’d not keep things from each other,” she says softly. He knows she’s trying not to sound disappointed, but he knows her well enough to sense that she is.

“I know. I was trying to handle it myself.”

Emma hums, but he knows she’s hurt.

“Hey, it’s not that I can’t come to you,” he says.

“It’s that you didn’t want to.”

He hates that it’s the truth. He didn’t. “Yeah.”

“I know that you don’t like talking to me about your drinking. I know that you don’t want to worry me. But you not telling me things, that still worries me, Killian.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She makes a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. “So, you’re on sabbatical?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you please say something else except,  _ ‘yeah’ _ ?” she snaps.

“I love you.”

“Charming. But that’s not what I meant.”

“I know. But it warrants saying. All the time, forever.” She smiles at that, and that’s all he ever wants, in an ‘all the time, forever’ kind of way. 

He sucks in a deep breath. “I think I need to go back to therapy.” It’s hard for him to admit, and he knows that it’s harder for his wife to hear it. 

But in all these years of being together and a team, he has never found it easy to talk to her about his alcoholism. And it’s not because he thinks Emma will be disillusioned of him. She knows all the dark and gritty parts of him, and she’s accepted them as much as the rest. It’s just - it’s unnecessary to worry her with every single detail. To make her feel helpless. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” she confesses. “But this parenting thing? We’re both in it together. We will make mistakes, and it won’t always be the best. But I still need you, okay? I need you to be okay, too”

“I know. And we  _ are _ in this parenting thing together.”

And he knows that they have more to talk about. This isn’t the end, it isn’t going to be rainbows and sunshine. Emma’s still having a high risk pregnancy, and he’s still an alcoholic and he still very much needs a drink. But knowing the odds that they have crossed - his alcoholism, the hospital shooting, her father passing away,  her accident in her final year of residency, his father coming back into their lives - all of it, just shows that they’ve fought for their love every step of the way. They weren’t destined, real life rarely works that way, but goddammit, he’s unbelievably lucky that he gets to spend his life with Emma Swan.

He’ll be damned if he squanders it away.

“Ready to head to bed?” he asks through a yawn.

“God, yes. Can you carry me?” she requests, raising her arms at him.

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening. I’m far too exhausted. If I don’t drop you, I will probably injure you.” He pulls her up, letting her rest most of her weight on him, listening to her sleepy whining as they head to their bedroom.

Once they’re settled, her head on his chest and her bump resting lightly against his hip, sound asleep, he thinks once again about how grateful he is for having her in his life.

They’re not perfect. But they fit, they make it work.

And that’s enough for him.

 


End file.
